


Imprinting

by RyuichiroSakuraba



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:43:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7920991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyuichiroSakuraba/pseuds/RyuichiroSakuraba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So Emiya-san, pray tell what you have done to Master,” the man in green remarks, lighting a cigarette and shooting a stray monster at the head.</p><p>“Me? Nothing. Master’s like that probably due to the fact that I’m the first Servant he summoned. You know how ducklings get attached to their mother the moment they hatch?”</p><p>Robin deadpans in response.</p><p>“You're the one who came out of the Summoning Pool; this case is the other way around.”</p><p>Of course, I definitely know what he was talking about. For once, I deem that absolutely plausible. Not that I would say it out loud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imprinting

**Author's Note:**

> Summer Event has ended and it feels amazing to be not salty for once. :)
> 
> Getting Archtoria and Ruler Martha was wonderful, but having Ozy to join my budding All-Husbando team was the best gift ever upon returning to the game. Ahohohoho~
> 
> This was supposed to be just around 3500 words, but well, let's just say my hands function optimally under the effects of caffeine and nicotine.
> 
>  
> 
> I don't own anything from the Fate/ series all the other franchises scattered in the fanfic as Easter eggs, Christmas balls, jelly shots, whatever you want to call it. I own the 'blah blah blah blah' line though, but I don't have the funds to file a patent for that, so no. Ugh.

Emiya Shirou: the pursuer of justice, the epitome of goodness, the total domestic/handyman brat.

That was the name I discarded for time knew when. I admit, I was a pushover, screaming all about optimistic views and lofty ideals, aiming to please everyone and establish a win-win situation in all circumstances.

The Fuyuki incident – dubbed as the Grail War by the higher ups in the magical society left me questioning: was all the trouble worth just a single wish?

World domination? Endless amount of money? Fame? Love? Pursuit of happiness?

Hm. If I remember correctly, I did have a fleeting thought on what I would’ve asked if I emerged the victor of that melodramatic scenario but now that I’ve thought about it, I couldn’t remember for the life of me what it was.

…if I am still considered alive, that is.

Being a Heroic Spirit would’ve been at the bottom of my list of what-you-want-to-be’s as I filled the possible career options on a run-off-the-mill student guidance sheet back in high school. Tohsaka commented that I should try becoming a Magus but hell; that would be an outrageously ambitious goal that could rival the former. I could only do Projection Magic, and I was not even capable of finding my own mana reserves.

So much for thinking; I’m getting called out from this static, ever-unchanging place again. Whoever thought that this place deserves to be named a Throne was totally wrong.

Blasphemous? No.

It’s reality.

* * *

“Servant Archer. I answer to your summon.”

Hm. Air conditioning? The faint electric tingles of mana? What a weird location to be called on a short notice, I guess – better than crashing into a grand living room; that former Master of mine tore my ears off about antiques and sorts, though nothing Projection and Reinforcement couldn’t handle.

Setting my eyes on my new Master, I was then swimming in orbs of blue complete with a bratty grin (yet something tells me he’s adept on whatever he does…well, probably), unkempt hair competing with my own, and a voice that echoes my distant memory of summoning a Saber clad in blue.

“Please take care of me _again_ from this point onward, Emi- oh, I mean Archer!”

I can tell he was a bit disappointed. What a déjà vu.

If this guy is the same ‘plucky male pseudo-Tohsaka’ that I met back in 2004, I’ll be so screwed.

Tch. With my E-rank luck, such inopportune event like _this_ is bound to happen.

* * *

“Master, I believe it’s not wise to overexert yourself today,” I sigh, feeling awkward as I follow his lead, other Servants lagging behind to inspect the area, talk about battle tactics, or in Shielder’s and ear-ripping off-key Lancer’s case, gossip.

“W-what? I haven’t been to senpai’s room!” the Shielder shrieks-whispers (I seriously don’t know how she does that) and it doesn’t need someone’s eyes to imagine how upset she is. “I mean not a lot of times!”

“Oh-ho~ And the Red Archer _always_ answers first,” the musically inept Lancer chides, trying to squeeze out details of whatever they are discussing along the way. “Makes you kind of wonder what happens behind closed doors, no?”

This is way worse than the dysfunctional yet peaceful (?) excuse of a family at the Emiya estate during the Grail War.

At least that was tolerable, and I was having a bit of fun too.

“I can hear both of you,” I say more to my own self, earning an elbow nudge from another Archer in this ragtag group called “Singularity Exploration and Elimination Squad”, as our Master named it with vigor. I think we just need some armbands, summoning pistols and Saint Quartz crushing effects and we’re all set.

Like salt in an open wound, we’re trekking in an alternate Fuyuki in search for information and cannon fodder, the latter was pretty much roughly explained by Master as ‘servant improvement stuff’.

“You seem really popular among the ladies.”

“Please shut the hell up, Robin. And you two as well,” I grunt, not liking how the conversation goes. Let’s just hope that this reconnaissance mission will end soon; all this smoke, fires, and ruins certainly gives a cringe factor.

Master suddenly turns, wobble present in his step. “Just a bit more, Archer. We’ll zap out of here soon, so let’s work our asses off, okay?”

With that, he munches on a Bronze Apple and continues to walk briskly, checking every nook and cranny in the path towards Fuyuki X-A. For someone so happy-go-lucky, Master can be pretty thorough when he put his mind into it.

Not bad for a novice.

“So Emiya-san, pray tell what you have done to Master,” the man in green remarks, lighting a cigarette and shooting a stray monster at the head.

“Me? Nothing. Master’s like that probably due to the fact that I’m the first Servant he summoned. You know how ducklings get attached to their mother the moment they hatch?”

Robin deadpans in response.

“You're the one who came out of the Summoning Pool; this case is the other way around.”

Of course, I definitely know what he was talking about. For once, I deem that absolutely plausible. Not that I would say it out loud.

* * *

My thoughts on that day is reinforced further when Dr. Romani instructs us to visit another a new Singularity after a few weeks of farming previously cleared areas (sans Fuyuki; Master is adamant on not going there anymore, much to the Witch of Betrayal’s grief of not getting the Void Refuse she specifically needs for her magic items) and domestic training (our slightly-incompetent Master cannot even boil eggs) which also counts as Master-Servant Bonding missions.

“Mou… Five more minutes, Archer…”

“It’s time we left for battle. I know you have prepared sufficiently, but I don’t understand how staying up all night playing that game was a part of the mission readiness check,” I grumble half-heartedly. Sure, he can be a pain in the neck, but he looked serious last night, concentrating on getting a nice alternate self to whack his enemies to oblivion.

Having a game junkie Master kind of makes me want to play that game too.

“Can it wait? I’ve been looking forward to do a fusion with you sometime…” he mumbles, voice scratchy from lack of sleep.

Crap. That sends a cold trickle down my spine. Seriously, Master treats every Servant he summons with care, excluding them from the Servant Mana Circuit Absorption ritual and always settles for a Class Crystal merge instead, or getting some Fou Amplifiers if he gets lucky to materialize those at the FATE facility.

My pride says that I will provide good Servant experience for I’m always in the starting lineup, but still, has he grown tired of me that he wishes for my elimination to make another Servant better?

Come to think of it, I can’t even wrap my head around the fact that Master successfully establishes a Contract with several Heroic Spirits and how the hell he can handle _all_ of us materialized.

_“Do as you like! Feel free to enjoy your new freedom, but no killing unless absolutely required, okay? No killing each other either. Well, whatever. You won’t do that anyway. Also, stay materialized unless you’re required to be invisible or I’ll personally send you back to the Ether – or something like that,” Master said, punctuating the dramatic delivery with a sinister chuckle, copying a certain orange-haired girl who he usually hung out with alongside Mashu on his off days. The annoying part? She has the Blue Lancer but it was quite fortunate that he wasn’t under my Master. That Blue Lancer truly was a bad influence since the world began – though the other Master was cordial when I’m around so no worries for me, I guess?_

Tch. He’s just too fond of that game thus referencing some of his words, yet I feel a bit unsettled. However, if he wishes to banish me, then I will gladly submit. Servants are merely a Master’s tools.

“…you don’t plan on terminating our Contract anytime soon, do you?”

As if an icy bucket of water splashed on his head, Master abruptly gets up, ripping the covers off his toned form.

“Of course, I don’t, you meathead!” he screams, his tone mimicking another black-haired monster (or Master?) and clutches at my Mystic Code by the collar, sending me sprawling all over him. Good thing he instructed me to ditch the overcoat for better mobility or we’ll be in a pile of fabric. Oddly, I can still feel its effects; due to Master’s powers, Chaldea, or this dimension, I won’t know at the moment.

Wow. That hurt. Is that Reinforcement? A bit of me can totally see that coming, but most of my brain cells tell me to observe how this will play out.

Oh, I don’t have brain cells, so maybe memory circuits? And Master manhandling a Heroic Spirit seems highly amusing right now. Might as well see him try.

“You are my first, so no, I’m never getting rid of _you,_ ” he whispers harshly, vestiges of sleep lacing his voice, morning breath and all.

While it may seem abhorrent, it reminds me of the times I was summoned by my _own_ self; no matter what happened there, I just couldn’t find the will to exterminate him, which led to some…situations almost similar to this. That sounds insane, but that’s a story for another day.

“Senpai? Are you decent?” the only Shielder-class Servant quips in a muffled voice from the small pad’s kitchen, sense of urgency evident, though her constant chewing on a buttered toast I arranged for her wasn’t making whatever she wanted to relay any important, judging from Master’s reaction.

“S-senpai! Um, am I interrupting something?”

Hn.

Yes? No? Maybe?

Master’s eyes widen akin to opening a Singularity portal.

“T-t-t-this is not how it looks like!”

How charming.

This is going to be a good day.

* * *

“Things I like doing on holidays…?”

It’s embarrassing, like I’m my younger self again, especially when you have this semi-obnoxious Master prodding you with his foot on a lazy Sunday over morning croissants and excessively sweetened tea. Tch. Too many carbs or Master will be sleepy for a while and do some sofa-cuddle attacks then have too much energy later and stay up all night again.

Perhaps I’ll ask da Vinci and Dr. Romani to open up Okeanos to get some seafood for lunch later. Oysters and mini-krakens are scrumptiously good.

“Yufghs,” Master nods, tearing a rather huge piece and chomping it noisily. A glare fixes that, and he tries (hard) to mind his manners yet failing miserably. Ungracefully swallowing, he resumes asking the dreaded question. “How does your typical holiday look like? I’m not your first Master, and we’re often off the clock, so we can relax more!”

That worries me _a lot_. What a lackadaisical demeanor. Masters come in all flavors and sizes, apparently.

“I hope for the love of whomever remotely holy that you won’t ditch our training _too_ often.”

“Just answer the question, Archer.”

Oh. He means business now. But still, should I?

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I wonder how much ‘gain’ I would get from replying to such a frivolous query.

“Weapon maintenance, household cleaning, fixing broken electronics, cooking, doing laundry…”

Every item I mention acts like a shovel, digging an imaginary grave deeper and deeper into the earth – or drilling a manhole into the permafrost around Chaldea’s vicinity. Someone kill me now.

However, each one of those morphs Master’s expression, weaving a gentle smile highly unlike his cocky grin and his game face.

For some reason, I like this one better.

“I’m a boring man, to be honest,” I conclude as I sip my tea only to do a spit take on Master’s not-so-carefully-thought-of words.

He beams softly as he leaned on Command Seal-covered hand and remarks, “More like a good husband.”

This young man will be the death of me someday.

“So… Let’s see what Kiyo-chan and Liz-chan thinks about that!” he transforms into what I call ‘The Gossipmonger” mode, much to my horror. When the “Master-Servant _Bonding_ ” incident has simmered down on our side and the orange Master and her loyal bunch of Servants stopped the rumor mill from spinning, I highly believed that it will be the end of it.

I’m pretty much mistaken. Tch, should’ve seen it coming.

“…are you kidding me?”

No wonder why sparring at Chaldea’s combat grounds and maintaining Master’s Mystic Code becomes a regular fare in our Master-Servant training menu, the latter taking up most of my time because the creator of the Mage’s Association Uniform (how nostalgic) didn’t seem to include self-mending and auto-cleaning; Mystic Codes can be repaired by mere Reinforcement, but those aren’t meant to be thrown in the wash – until I stepped on Chaldea. Since then, the fox-maiden Caster of the other team verbally wonders why I always carry Master’s scent.

Another batch of rumors flies across the realm; if this place were to be called Xibalba instead, then I’d be doomed…

Being connected with Master rings a good note on my ears though.

* * *

Ever experienced having a splinter removed from the skin? Nothing is there anymore, yet the lingering sense of unease irritates you to no end, but not serious enough to shove you out of your element.

Aside from the creepy, I-will-kill-you-now stares from a scorned Berserker, the omniscient smugness of a shrill-singing Lancer, and the naiveté of the friendly neighborhood Shielder (seriously, _every Master_ in Chaldea has her Contract) which leads to more vaguely similar scenarios like the ‘My Room Episode’ as Shakespeare from that other Master brilliantly coined, there is another thing that slightly annoys me. Not that I dislike Mashu – she’s just…too innocent.

Master hides something from me.

Sure, everyone has skeletons in their closets; I too have several of them, enough to provide the Singularity Exploration and Elimination Squad’s resident Assassin and Caster a constant supply of skulls to fuel their own devices. And before anyone throws a fit at the mouthful of words, Master specifically pointed out to never abbreviate it due to copyright reasons.

What the hell?

Anyway, it’s not by all means life-threatening, unless it gets in the way of tactics in Singularity sorties; I have yet to see the time Master loses his concentration, but let’s just hope that won’t happen, no?

Unfortunately, it somehow relates to the reason why I am usually benched on some rubble now, sitting the fight out and providing field info instead, seeing that divine spellcasting Rider has been under the spotlight for several days now with his explosive lightshows and pyramid sandwich executions.

I mean, who am I to complain? There are tons of Lancers in the recent Singularity that we have no idea when we’ll clear it, and besides, the orange Master has several Artoria Pendragon clones up her sleeve so our work here is probably just cleaning up after she does her over-120dB cackle of doom.

Basically, I’m literally useless at the moment. And seeing the Shepherd still join the starting lineup despite being an Archer too, I can’t help but feel a tad underappreciated.

Packing up to teleport back to Chaldea, I notice that the other Servants of our group have already left. Mashu, the last one leaving, bows in thanks, saying ‘Do your best, senpai!’ before jumping off to the portal. The orange-haired girl screams her undying love for the poor Chaldea-shared Servant while doing the noodle-y finger dance, gaining not-again’s from her loyal ‘subordinates’ and a cringe from my Master when her group disappeared from the foggy cobblestones of London.

What a weird demi-Servant, preferring to call Master “senpai” over anything else. Oh well, he did not summon her in the first place; go figure. She acts cute too, so it’s pretty much common knowledge that poor Mashu has the orange Master’s eyes on her all the time.

I have almost forgotten that Master is still around until he clears his throat and stands in front of me, the only one coloring the bleak tableau of blacks, whites, and grays. Master never fails to catch my eye for some reason, and his presence makes me think of losing myself sometimes and perhaps sulk, rant, or do something highly unlikely of me.

He’s unharmed, which is good, since he’s just slacking off earlier – perchance for once taking my overexertion lecture seriously, despite his all gung-ho demeanor in most cases. Everyone has their somber moments and I am mentally preparing myself for a full-blown ‘Why don’t I get some action?!’ bomb sooner or later. However, his gait when he approaches me tells a different story.

“May I sit beside you, Archer?” he asks politely, aiming to sit by my side. When he’s in a mellow and uneasy mood, he kind of seeks any kind of physical contact with people (almost always me, or maybe just me, whichever of the two, well, probably) and speaks with hushed words or semi-whispered whines.

Formal speech? The attitude improvement lessons pay off nicely. I demand a raise.

“Knock yourself out, Master.”

At that, he chuckles softly, hiding his unusually toned-down smirk with his Command Seal-covered fist, his back leaning on my left arm like I'm the most comfortable recliner on the planet.

“You’re sulking.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“Hn.”

Master lets out a long-winded sigh, as if the act can dispel all that ails him. “It pains me not being able to do anything much. The strife to emerge as a full-fledged Magi-Spirit tandem has been taxing on us yet this place is literally antagonizing our very reason for existence. It’s inevitable, but what else can be done?”

“You could’ve just said ‘this sucks’ and it would imply the same meaning.”

“At least I’m getting better at Archer-speak.”

It takes a lot of willpower not to laugh at the silliness of the response.

“Touché.”

We sit like this for a few more minutes, not really thinking what will happen if some Automata flank us or a wayward Heroic Spirit starts yelling bloody murder. Unfavorable, but these rare moments of silence are better not broken; Master often has important things to talk about when he's like this.

“Archer, will you forgive me?”

Did Master do something not to my liking? I can’t recall any, aside from the time he pulled on my Mystic Code overcoat and made it as a blanket when we lost to Nero Claudius for the first time even with two Archers in the main party. He hogged the sofa where I always slept (even if I don’t actually need to; a force of habit, that is) and ranted so much that his system switched off unconsciously due to overuse of vocal cords and incessant rambling. That by itself probably wouldn’t count since I just let him do what he wanted anyway.

Color me confused.

“What do you mean?”

He runs his thumbs over his Command Seals, coaxing answers that he can’t get from the red brands of our team’s pact. “You know Craft Essences?”

Of course I do. They’re like equipment, and once you get them, give it to a Servant and let its magic do the rest. A pretty nifty feature only this timeline can offer. Most of the Servants have them, and at times, it spells the difference between life and death, like how a few of the team’s Berserkers are capable of handling a mortal blow and surviving just by a thread to deliver the bone-breaking coup de grâce. Ah, what an irony.

“There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

A slight nod nudges my arm.

“Craft Essences are manifestations of an ingrained memory, whether it comes from a Servant, a Master, a Magus, or even a fictional being, an event, or a mundane item,” Master explains slowly, giving me enough time to process how those came to existence. “The summoning circle spews those out a lot, and sometimes, with the right catalyst, it materializes rare ones. Some can be crafted literally by Chaldean technology too, like the ones sold by da Vinci-san with a relatively hefty price tag.”

Oh, those? None of which the fruits of my Independent Action can afford. The boon of one Essence which increases Quantum Piece recovery is a steep price to pay compared to the what Master would shell out for infusing us with Fou crystals (he’s a literal Singularity farmer which values the QPs like diamond dust). Besides, he's a Mana Prism scrooge stating that he’s “allergic to the ‘accursed’ Crap Essences on da Vinci’s sketchy shop” – Master’s words in verbatim.

“I snagged a few from performing a Summoning Ritual, mostly generic ones,” he continues, hand then fishing something from his trousers pocket. Pulling it out, I immediately recognize that it’s a card, a conduit housing the very history behind a Craft Essence. “Lady Luck was smiling that time, so I managed to get my hands on a few rare ones. There’re some which I find a bit interesting too.”

He pauses reluctantly, squirming a bit, undoubtedly groping for the right words to say.

“Forgive me, but I wanted to give this one to you. It’s not much, but I believe it would significantly improve your battle prowess in our next Singularity.”

He’s always the doting Master, huh? Why doesn’t he just give it to me and go back to his normal, spontaneous self? And what’s there to forgive?

“However, I am torn if I should really hand this over… I am quite unsure of your reaction once you see it,” Master almost mumbled, still clutching on the item, a few wrinkles marring its pristine surface.

Those words are from the heart, so I take it that he took a lot of time to prepare himself to act upon it. Well done, Master.

“You surprised me a lot of times, Master. Now that you provided at least a heads-up, I don’t see any trouble in receiving it. You have earned my trust. Isn’t that enough to hold on to?”

A few moments accompanied by the low howling of the misty streets pass between us until a warm hand lands on my chest, its heat seeping through the thin card right above where my heart is supposed to be. I’m not living anymore, just a mere construct made out of a soul and mana, thriving on a bond – the Contract made after the Summoning Ritual. Despite that, a Servant is still what he is, a soul that transcended time and space, given form by his Master to wield as his sword and protect as his shield.

I trust Master; he never wishes to harm me.

If this memory will hurt, then it’ll probably be the equivalent exchange to become a better Servant. Master, there is no need for penance. Sometimes, the truth can stab you in the eye, but in the end, it’s the battle scars that we take pride on.

There is nothing to forgive.

A gentle tug and the Craft Essence card reveals an honest-to-goodness replica of the Shirou I remember quite vividly, unlike the hundreds among hundreds of younger Emiya that I met, gracefully unleashing Bakuya and aiming to release Kansho, the Shroud of Martin unfurled – his very arm looking noticeably Shirou’s own. A successful graft? He accepted…me? All those times we were wielding the same set of blades against our throats, one reality ended up with Shirou recognizing that I was him all along?

“It must’ve hurt Emiya – this you, when he tried to do the tracing, even just for a bit. Breaching the network of magic circuits with a set of highly specialized ones can fry a person from the inside or outside, depending on what perspective you are using. However, this record is probably just a facet of another timeline’s memory archive, a product from observing certain points of other timelines thanks to the realization of the Kaleidoscope’s existence myriads of years ago, or probably in another reality,” Master responds meekly to my silent question. “It’s a mere possibility; after all, an infinite number of realities can theoretically intersect at a single point.”

Switching awkwardly to his laid-back persona, he attempts to restore a sense of normalcy.

 “Ahaha! I must be rambling. I don’t know how to distinguish the difference among tons of Emiya Shirou that I will never meet in my lifetime, but I’m really thankful I stumbled upon one. That white turf and black on tan stands out anywhere. The Heroic Spirit EMIYA has never been summoned in Chaldea, so my beginner’s luck wasn't a bust!”

I…I’m at a loss for words. His brain functions never cease to astound me from time to time. I certainly take back what I said; you surprise me every single time.

Repeating Fuyuki again and again and again left me hopeless to break free from the Throne of Heroes, but seeing the conviction of this iteration of me while projecting our signature blades?

In the end, it might be for the best. After endless timeline rebootings, painful summonings and harsh awakenings, that one Emiya Shirou had…

Master did his homework well. Too well.

_“Promise me to keep your next Master happy and safe. Mou… Not that you needed me to tell you that. I am you, after all.”_

“It’s warm, like a birthday gift. I will treasure it, Master.”

A release of a long-held breath makes its announcement, and the shaking of Master’s shoulders announces an indication this scenario's impending curtain call. His empathic faculty will be his downfall someday – and I’ll make sure it won't be happening anytime soon.

“Fuuuuu! And here I was damn thinking you’d go ballistic and break our contract and cease cooking breakfast and stop making the whole pad tea-scented and stab me with a huge-ass toothpick Broken Phantasm –”

It’s been a while since I chuckled freely without thinking of what-ifs and the future.

“If Master is worried about such trivial matters, then the world must be ending.”

Oops. Wrong move. Master can emulate a machine gun firing several hundred rounds of Gandr per minute; even a graze will have serious complications. Time to dash to the portal or he’ll end up destroying the whole Singularity in rapid fire.

“YOU! You imbecile! The world is already ending so don’t jinx it! I’m so never giving you the other one!”

“Oh, you’re being generous today, Master. Care to share?”

“No!” he growls, still firing blind at me. Deep inside, he never actually hopes to land a hit.

Probably.

“What’s the use of Craft Essences to a Master, anyway? It’s not like you’re getting buffs from those.”

“Hah, if I end up becoming a Heroic Spirit of Chaldea, I’ll be the one using it!” he states with a huff, as if it will be true.

Joke or not, that surely stings.

“…please refrain from uttering such mindless words, Master. Do you really think I will let you die without a fight?”

A brief pause causes me to think twice on looking back and gauging his reaction. Maybe I said too much, but hell, forming a pact with the World or dying gloriously are not things that should be taken lightly. Charge it from experience.

“How about I _kill_ first for making fun of me?”

Well, no point in arguing with a hard-wired Master. Once his mind is set on something, he’ll see it through the end. Good thing Chaldea’s walls are resilient enough to withstand roughhousing Servants and repair auto-magically; again, Master’s words, not mine. We don’t want to have collateral damage from our banters getting into our list of expenditures for the month; a few things in Chaldea are quite breakable, and that spellslinger-Rider divinity swims in a pool of expensive golden class crystals that would make a certain Berserker and Archer jealous.

He goes straight into the shower, not before haphazardly shimmying out of his well-loved Mystic Code _in front of me_ and slamming the door strong enough to bounce off the whole pad. How indecent, but well, he’s my Master so I can’t complain much.

It’s worthy to mention that he sucks at hiding things; I found the other Craft Essence in the left coat pocket of his uniform while I was mending it; for someone so careless, he rants about having his clothes torn.

Judging the panel on the card, it was the same Shirou, all grown up nicely, standing proud with his battle scars, donning a garb reminiscent to the one our adoptive father wore often at home.

The sleeve on his left arm…

Is it unusual to miss this Shirou yet not feel miserable enough to pine helplessly?

Hn. The matters of the heart are way too complicated.

Anyway, it makes sense that Master wanted to keep it for himself. It’s for Buster-types, so assuming he ascends as a Heroic Spirit, I can totally see him screaming ‘GAAAANDR!’ and unleashing a destructive curse of gigantic proportions. How befitting.

This scenario reeks of Master’s orchestrations.

He really wanted me to see this after all.

It’s quite amusing to gaze at a half-decent Master after finishing his scalding shower, glowing red like a lobster just from receiving my heartfelt gratitude. Master slung three gifts in a row at a Servant that semi-perpetually pisses him off which is not common even by my standards.

By the way, that is his third gift.

…or so I think.

* * *

Master’s penchant for having ranged Servants is seriously ticking me off. He said in passing that he wished for a Caster as a main Servant but it’s plausible that he just wanted an all-Arts powerhouse to blaze through Singularities in one fell swoop – plus he always liked spamming Noble Phantasms one after the other, justifying how this whole timeline is way different from the ones that I encountered and I’m not sure if I like it _at all_. Not to mention his support spells tend to inflict friendly fire and even the sturdiest of the team’s Servants wouldn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. That stalker Berserker almost burnt my hair too. Ugh.

I have a tiny urge to wear Master’s glasses (which comes from another Mystic Code of his) and say ‘How unpleasant!’ like that high school action love story I am forced to watch with him the whole night.

What’s more unpleasant is the grim status quo at this crazy battlefield. The Shepherd ran out of mana to fling another stone. The Witch luckily landed Rule Breaker which helped dampen the sheer firepower this damn oversized Chimera has, only to perish soon after – Casters are glass cannons.

Seriously, this is a hacked game; how can Berserker class enemies have so much health?

Well, Heracles in the other party isn’t any different based from what Tamamo-no-mae had remarked over afternoon tea and chocolate-covered pretzels, but I digress.

Master’s mana reserves are low, his pulse is on overdrive while panting like a puppy that ran around the world twice, backup hasn’t arrived yet, his healing waves won’t be happening soon since he never heeded the Witch’s warning that Heal is not equal to Gandr in terms of mana consumption, his hand only has one Command Seal left…

Overall, we are in the gravest possible condition ever imagined. We have a new record, so will this earn me more Quantum Pieces? Or probably a stash of Mana Prisms?

Keep dreaming, or so Master would cheekily reply. Crappy part? He’s barely trying to stay conscious.

The stench of burning vitriol assaults our olfactory centers and the holy archer, ever nimble, bravely dashes forward before the hellfire breaks loose, praying to his dear god that their Covenant will hold as he swings his herding staff down.

…and our luck apparently runs out at the most crucial time.

“Please… Run… Flee with Master… May the good Lord bless you and keep…you…”

David… Running away right now is highly improbable. Vitriol fumes cause Master to choke and cough, worsening his already ragged breathing. This is so not our day.

Shall I leave it this way?

No way in seven hells I will do that. Master is going to live another day and demand for a ton of carbs again when he wakes up. I won’t let him die.

Not on my watch.

If I time this correctly, I can evade the incoming blaze and attack an opening. Berserkers are fragile – it’s just that this one has stamina of over 9000, and nobody needs a Geiger counter to see that.

Acrid smoke goes out full force and the wretched creature prepares the blast, flames starting to emerge from its nostrils. Quite a distressing fact; no matter what I do, even if I try to taunt it on its flank, this damned amalgamation of monsters have its eyes often on Master, and it scans the area in a wide angle every once in a while. Hn. I have to concede that at least it uses its four brains to think of the best strategy – exterminate the Master, goodbye motherf-.

“Shit.”

Ugh. Bad thoughts, begone! This is what I get if I’m not focusing properly. Tch.

Think. C’mon. Think.

I pray this would work.

Flinging Kanshou and Bakuya in an arc and hitting one of the heads on the other side, I hope that it will think that the attacker is from that very side.

And it works! The abomination turned laterally, following the flight path of two swords. Willing the two to break, Kanshou and Bakuya are retraced once more to be sent to another direction.

This is an unforgivable mistake.

…one of the heads is still focusing on me. It has seen the swords shatter.

With the other heads tracking me, a cold shiver goes down my spine as the flames from the main head emerge in a speed too fast for my liking – and it chooses the frail form of the all-grins, chipper, motor-mouthed Master as its lovely target.

“Master!”

Shit. I can do this.

…the flames are painful the first time, the next time, and every time. As an Archer, I trained to evade anything; swords, arrows, punches, ricocheting Gae Bolgs, mad Master Gandr spams, and everything else in between. A flamethrower isn’t any different, even a kid in the right mind will strafe away from it.

When the Master that I trust the most is in front of the said barrage, there is no choice to make. All I need is mana, among other things like a panacea for boredom, good food, and a warm sofa (and on occasion, an even warmer Master) to snooze on.

Servants can rematerialize with just a flick of a Master’s finger in Chaldea. That place is brimming with mana that we can stay constantly visible without aggravating our Master. We just need to get out of this hellish place and recuperate so we can start cleaning Singularities and raking in Quantum Points some other day.

An epiphany strong enough to grant me a few more seconds to withstand the heat burns behind my eyelids. It has been a while since I had the iron will to protect someone important to me.

“I’m…sorry Shirou. I couldn’t keep my promise you… Will you forgive me…perchance we meet again?”

Ah, the process of dematerialization. I seem to have forgotten this feeling after staying visible for such a long time.

“Stupid Archer! Die in front of me and I will be the one sending you to kingdom come!”

…a Command Seal? And I can’t technically ‘die’, unless Master… No, I wouldn’t want to begin my thoughts with that, though I’m close to the brink of succumbing to the futility of the matter at hand.

The Grail War made me hate its incredulous claim of providing miracles; that was just too good to be true. What you see is definitely what you won’t get; it’s more of a blackmail rather than an equivalent exchange.

But this one time, now that my Master’s life is on the line, even if I don’t believe in miracles, would a small one be too much to ask?

“I demand you… to stay alive.”

“Tch! That not how a Command Seal works in this timeline!” I snapped, gritting my teeth at the absurdity of the situation. The monster isn’t relenting, and it requires immediate intervention or it’ll make Chaldea suffer from a loss of another Master. There are only a few of them remaining; this brilliant Master is one of the reasons Chaldea still functions.

And I, too, will mourn him.

How unpleasant.

“Why did you choose me, you dimwit?! If you chose Mashu instead, the Wall of Chalk and Rousing Resolution would’ve bought you enough time to escape!”

“…despite being the sole Servant of Shielder class, her heart is fragile. I don’t want her to go through that hellfire again a few moments after being recalled.”

Tch. Damn empathic Master, his untimely spark of lacking self-preservation, and his rare stroke of idiocy all rolled into one neat package during a life-and-death situation. Understandable, since Mashu is a demi-Servant, she can get traumatized too. A part-human; for the best or for the worst, only she can answer. If I were Shirou right now, I would commend him for being such a hero. However, there’s a thin line between softie and suicidal.

And his apparent streak of stupidity still thrums in his veins, sending a set of Gandr at each of the heads’ eyes. Where did my overexertion lecture go?

“It’s…stunned… for a while…” Master wheezed, his right hand clasping at his chest, the obvious gray marks that used to be crimson telling us that he did the best he can manage until midnight falls on Chaldea – if we are still alive.

“Any insanely bright ideas then, Master?”

“Deploy Unlimited Blade Works.”

Is that a joke? For someone who only had the prowess and natural affinity to keep several Servant Contracts active, never studied formal Magecraft and thus only knew spells embedded in Mystic Codes yet pestered the remaining executives to let them browse the contents of Trismegistus and Laplace out of curiosity, he should have known that a Servant like me, including all those several hundred iterations of Emiya Shirou can only release the Reality Marble with a near ten-count aria.

“That thing will kill you in a heartbeat before I can even recite the spell.”

Only two can do such a feat of accelerated incantations (or even not reciting one at all), and so far, one has been out of commission after dispelling the enemy’s boons, and the other is now barely breathing after conjuring four freaking blasts in rapid succession without even batting an eyelash.

By the looks of it, he’s actually pretty serious.

“You have earned my trust. Isn’t that enough to hold on to?”

Please refrain using my words against me.

“…as you wish, Master.”

My mana is capable of unleashing it for good five to eight seconds tops, and judging the ‘Concentration Mode’ he’s in, Master is probably thinking of the same thing.

Alas, we’re running on borrowed time. Too bad, the gears inside my Reality Marble aren’t made for rewinding seconds.

“Will you say the usual, Archer?” Master struggles to grin the same way he does every day, only to look like it requires a lot of effort to move a few facial muscles to do so. He’s earnest, and even if it sickens me at this moment, I have to oblige.

“Supply me mana –”

“I already did. If you happen to bear fangs, I’ll let you bite my neck too.”

Typical. Still making fun of the situation despite the gravity of it.

“Please shut up, Master.”

“…”

The ground shakes, and the damn Chimera is back on its feet. Talk about drawing a dai-kyou fortune on your shrine visit.

“Supply me mana. Let’s end this, Master!”

Growls permeate the air, and the tell-tale stench of an incoming wide-angle makeshift barbecue compels me to weave the spell faster than the Chimera’s preparation phase. Deflecting the other heads’ attacks makes it a bit harder to concentrate, a slight hint of fear instilling doubts if it will actually work.

And shit, why are flames starting to come out now?

Wait, is this monster is actually mutated or simply a palette swap to render it easy to exterminate only to raise the middle finger at us?

“I am the bone of my sword…”

Warm hand. Soothing light. Magic circles on overdrive. The man I trust in front of me.

Wait. You don’t have to do this, Master.

“… and whatever blah blah blah blah comes after it!” he interrupts my chant in a manner that will definitely earn him an E at a Mage’s Association exam. He doesn’t understand the meaning of time constraint too.

I can continue the next line, but for the love of tofu, he just wasted a few precious seconds.

If we were in a better situation, a good whack on the head was in order, though I admit it was quite funny. This Master of mine is a perfect example of an unorthodox mage that I wouldn’t mind to see growing into a proper Magus sans the proper title; I’m an informal mage in my time too, so that makes us two peas in a pod.

“Archer!”

Reciprocation, eh?

Master, do pray tell: where will this mutual trust take us?

“Unlimited Blade Works!”

Surprisingly, the Reality Marble activates without the need of the succeeding verses, changing the immediate area into a familiar sight of a clockwork horizon, a sea of sand, and an infinite collection of swords.

No, it actually started _before_ I even finish the final verse.

That does not remedy the breath of fire we’re about to take in a blink of an eye.

“How’s that even possible?” I whisper to myself, only to see his magic circuits intermingling with mine through skin contact. Master’s hand circuits form several synapses with my core, along with other parts of him making contact with mine, allowing a steady flow of mana and information to seep with me, and permitting me to touch a tiny portion of Master’s unconscious.

High-Speed Divine Words…on a _human_? Collective experience from my time as a Magus brought me to remember High-Speed Incantation – it was simply talking faster in a nutshell, with added burden of increased concentration and/or mana requirement to conjure; a staple, elementary skill required by most spellcasting disciplines. And for a rudimentary mage like I was, gaining it was impossible.

Unlimited Blade Works is a strange spell, even in my opinion. Visualization and reimagining the contents of the Reality Marble requires specificity of mental images; toss in the aria of a dying man that can rival a ten-count incantation and it’s a signature (and ironically, the lone) spell which only Shirou and I can use.

Just who are you, Master?

“It just is, and do bombard that bastard with whatever Broken Phantasm you can find. I can only help you sustain the field for eight more seconds. Oh, a shield sounds nice too.”

Eight seconds? Seems like infinity to me.

As I breathe heavily, a decent copy of Rho Aias materializes as the flames started to lick Master’s skin. Burns and blisters litter his arms which shielded his eyes prior to the appearance of the temporary sanctuary. I’m pretty sure Dr. Romani can handle those injuries with ease once we’re safe. Master is a tough cookie, a cat with nine lives, or an obnoxious cockroach.

I’ll pick the last one.

The cogs still ticking, all the swords in my immediate field of vision swarm the wretched beast, my rage partially fuelling the countless conjurations of weapons, including the ones I never know personally.

Swords, swords, swords.

Die by the sword.

The Reality Marble soon dissolves into thin air, the beast barely moving, twitching in agony.

“We’re…safe, Master.”

And with that, he slumps against me, propping his hand on my shoulder for support.

“As tempting as it is, the bone of your sword is poking me in an uncomfortable way.”

Pardon me?

“Nonetheless, you have served me well, my Einherjar. Now, I’ll slip into Divine Sleep and wake up when the need arises,” he mumbles against my collar and soon, he collapses, unconscious but very much alive.

“You just love stealing lines from your 2D army, don’t you,” I laugh, scooping this semi-idiotic Master of mine and rehashing mental images to recall which path is safe to traverse as we wait for reinforcements or a Chaldea portal to appear.

Heat. A warm, gentle heat.

…which doesn’t come from this heavy lump called Master.

Shit. I swear this is way more dangerous than taking Heracles out of commission.

Despite my status as a Heroic Spirit, I’m so drained now that doing the fancy ‘flash-steps’ is virtually impossible for me unless I prefer to shatter into pyreflies after a few dashes.

Tch. Master is rubbing off on me in all the wrong ways.

Resigning myself to luck, I resumed trudging, ready to sprint away from the fire in case it breaks loose. I will live, definitely, but this young man isn’t in the best condition for a barbecue party. I’m ready to brace myself when a weird, slow moving orb heads toward us.

Huh? I’m not touching whatever that is. It emits an entirely different mana signature, so that rules out the probability that this is a Chaldean teleportation portal in the making. Taking a side step, I let the orb drift lazily. At a glance, the said weird thing looks virtually harmless, but years in the field taught me not to take everything at face value.

Remarkably enough, the ball piques the interest of the dreaded Chimera infused with the genes of an obnoxious weed.

“Uomo Universale!”

That aristocratic voice releasing a Noble Phantasm reverses all hopes of survival into black tendrils of terrible, unimaginable despair. With this, I conclude that a huge fraction of the Chaldean populace have absolutely no idea what friendly fire means.

* * *

Two days later and Master returns to his perpetually obnoxious self. Routine resumes and our ‘happy’ group expands a tiny bit due to a raise in Master’s collected bounty (that damn Chimera made a good specimen that Dr. Romani found highly valuable and da Vinci dubbed as ‘highly cute yet extremely deadly’), putting him in a sugary good mood.

I just hope that the former temple guardian Assassin won’t invite Master for drinks again. He’s almost legal, but Master has this weird tendency to getting buzzed on non-alcoholic juice mixes. Of course, I have the ability to scan an item’s composition in a second’s notice, and there are no traces of Void Refuse in the grape drink yesterday so I deemed it safe for minors. Maybe Master can get tipsy just by soaking in the atmosphere?

Days came and went, and soon, the dreaded Valentine’s Day arrives. There’s no reason to be upset about it but surprisingly, I haven’t received any chocolate from the mid-month event. Master, on another note, has his hands full of paper bags containing a sheer amount of sweets enough to satisfy his sugar cravings for the next two months – or maybe way less than that given his extremely active lifestyle and excessive use of Gandr, area heals and mana infusions outside the nonsensical use of Command Seals.

_“Hey Archer, it’s time for clockwork and firecrackers!”_

Those are formally called Broken Phantasms, but his glee reduces my conviction to correct him down to a flat zero.

Some of his admirers (which I find mildly annoying), which includes Servants from our _and_ the orange Master’s pool, pick the more sentimental route and gives him Craft Essences which provided zero use in battle; those just conveys the sources’ feelings in a shard of memory meant to be kept indefinitely.

Pukingly dizzying pinks and nauseatingly sweet smells along the hallways aside, Master plops at the sofa and animatedly recalls his day.

“Archer, if they knew me well, they should understand that digestible chocolate is always better. I could savor the fruits of their labor that way and experience the memory first hand rather than comprehending its details from some holographic projection.”

“…which only translates to ‘I just want to eat chocolate’ and nothing else.”

“I’m sure you understand my sentiments. I’m glad you see it my way, Archer! Oh, do we have potatoes? We’ll have badass curry tonight!”

“I still value your life above anything else. Ergo, you’re not stepping into the kitchen, Master.”

“I command you to let me use my kitchen!”

“That’s for single Servant rejuvenation, we are simply boarding the place, and you just wasted a Command Seal today.”

“It’s not like we’re going to a Singularity in the next two days, and I get all my Command Seals back at 0000 hours.”

“…I just can’t win over you, no?”

“Damn straight. The extent of truth shall never change.”

“Begone, before I change my mind, Master. And please stop stealing other people’s lines or you’ll get sued for copyright infringement.”

“They’re not just people, Archer. They are gods.”

“Yes…yes…says the game developer and the instruction booklet. Enough. My mana reserves are dwindling due to this majestic discourse about the Aesir and the Vanir.”

“I just gave you some. And damn, you look more like Odin than Archer. The white hair is such a giveaway. But how can an old, boring man be popular in Chaldea’s polls?”

“Alas, he’s not popular enough and he didn’t get chocolates today. The old, boring man is dying.”

“I won’t let that happen. Not on my watch.”

“Have you discovered telepathy that day, Master?”

“Just had a hunch. Wait..did you really think that? Am I a mind-reading Magus now?!”

“No, you’re still the idiotic Master who never finished 1st Grade by the Mage’s Association reckoning yet can innovate successive Gandr casting to become a mere diversion in battle, if that soothes your pride by a bit.”

“You’re mean, Archer!”

“I am always mean. And would you please get out of my hair? You pledged to cook tonight; and you never break your promises, right Master?”

“Hmph.”

An hour and a half later and the scents of homemade curry assault my nose in a nice way. Hm. Taiga inhales my cooking, and Sakura always does the dishes before she leaves for the night. Then there’s Saber who asks for seconds (she still gets her daily dose of curry at the cafeteria downstairs), Ilya who latches at my arm so I sometimes couldn’t eat properly, and a perpetually-complaining Tohsaka who probably never tasted ‘peasant’s’ curry yet threatening me to have the same dish five days after, and since then, ‘Shirou’s curry’ has become a weekly affair.

Ah, the good times in the midst of a bloody war. I have almost forgotten how that was.

“Dinner is ready to be served!”

Oh, nice. I don’t have to grab a first aid kit. Even if he manages to nick himself judging by the bandage around his left index finger, the smoke alarm is intact and the kitchen is okay, save for the normal clutter that his clumsy ways bring. He’s learning the basics of cooking, though I’m not sure if I’ll let him use the microwave soon. Who puts an unopened can of ready-to-drink coffee in there?

Like clockwork, Master takes two mouthfuls of food, chokes slightly, gulps water three times before finally sighing in relief and resumes eating. Servants are not summoned to relax for long periods, yet this is a routine that I can probably keep up.

Nostalgic, albeit different from what my younger self cooked, but the heartiness and mild flavor to appease all ages has hit the spot well.

“Good work, Master.”

“It’s to be expected. I paid a high premium just to get that recipe.”

“…I wouldn’t want to know.”

And there he goes, beaming gently as if talking about my weekends is just yesterday. We continue to enjoy the rare chance of Master whipping up something edible, conversations about snippets from my past peppering the cozy air within our shared living space.

The curry goes well with rice, and it leaves a lingering aftertaste that is too faint to decipher – until I take a bite of my third helping.

Chocolate.

* * *

“Oh, Emiya-chan~! Nice to see you around!”

Ah. What a coincidence. I am about to head to the shop too. Saves me the trouble of bumping on people I don’t have the mood to argue with, namely the boisterous Blue Lancer or his Caster clone – the other Blue Lancer is actually a nice guy to drink with so I have no qualms when he’s around.

“Your aura definitely tells me that you’re itching to peruse my wares, and I just remembered that you still haven’t used your vouchers for Mana Prisms after your previous ‘fatal mission’s’ appraisal. Ooooh~ Are you planning on splurging today?”

She’s a mind reader. Oh, scratch that. _He_ fits da Vinci better, but addressing him as such may cause Saint Quartz welts on my skull. My head can only take so much abuse, thank you very much.

“That is correct.”

“Oho! Now I’m excited! I’ll provide the best _service_ , if the price is right,” she smiles, eyes glittering that I believe her eyes are made of ridiculously expensive Saint Quartz that Master sometimes tearfully spends on Summoning Rituals.

* * *

“Ara~ How would you like to get your wallet burned today? Rare? Medium-rare? Well-done?”

“Mou… I kinda forgot if I’m still capable of exchanging Prisms for Summoning Tickets. Do I still have some?”

“Let’s see… Your account has… Oooh~ You still have one in stock! How lucky!”

“Heh. I’m betting it’ll be a set of Black Keys again.”

“When did you become such a pessimist? That’s what an ever-brooding Emiya-chan would say.”

“Ahaha! I know right? Well, just charge it from my remaining Prism balance.”

“Okay~! And, done! Purchase successful! Thanks for choosing Pretty da Vinci-chan’s Shop!”

“…as if we have an option to shop elsewhere.”

“Exactly!”

“And why does this look a bit shinier and more golden? I assume there are no extra charges for getting this?”

“Prices are still the same! And for the record, I drill holes on everyone’s wallets fair and square. And that beautiful thing you’re holding right now is just a prototype; the cheap, horrible, ugly, despair-inducing, monotonous, downright plain look of those abominable Summoning Tickets doesn’t go well with my fabulous shop so I, the true artist da Vinci-chan, took the liberty of remodeling it. That way, you will feel lucky, even if your Luck is Z-rank or lower. A brilliant idea, don’t you think? Ohohohohoho~”

“I didn’t know there’s a Luck rating lower than E.”

“For every rule, there’s always an exception~!”

“Well, I don’t feel any luckier, but well, who knows? Thanks for the update, by the way. I’ll probably come by for Gold Crystals once they’re in stock. See you.”

* * *

“Welcome back, Master. You didn’t get another Black Key, did you?”

“Lucky! I got a weird yet an extremely rare one! It’s “Kiss your Hand”, and it’s a pretty good universal attack Craft Essence. It will improve all of your commands, and provide bigger boosts on your critical star generation, mana regen, and heavy-hitters. Funny thing, it has you in a white tuxedo, complete with a bouquet! What timeline did it happen?”

“Not interested. I’ll just stick with the first one you gave me, Master.”

“You don’t want it?”

“It’s not for me anyway. It’s yours the moment you drew it.”

“Aha~! Have you finally recognized me as boyfriend material? Have you realized how attractive I am? Have you fallen for my charm and wit?”

“That attempt on screwing with my head is beyond lame, but I’d say yes on all accounts, Master. Except for the ‘wit’ part.”

“…any last words, Archer?”

“He was about to ask his Master out and ‘humbly’ request for his name, but it seems that he doesn’t notice that his first Archer has changed into a white tuxedo and jumped to a Singularity to pick some flowers for this very occasion.”

“…”

“Cat got your tongue, Master?”

“…Gudao. Only if I call you Emiya.”

“The whole of Chaldea addresses me as Emiya or ‘Oi!’. I have a given name too, Master.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! The hunky muse left as fast as he came, which leaves me in a grumpy mood. I'll probably find some more skillseeds on MOBIUS FF to get Wol's feathery half-skirt ready for action while I'm waiting for F/GO stamina to replenish. Lol.
> 
> Pardon all the inconsistencies if you're a Fate/ series emeritus professor - fanfiction is a huge sandbox; you can play with it all day.
> 
> Oh, and about Gudao's divinity? He might be have hints of divine descent or he probably has too much games to play that he developed a slight streak of a chuunibyou along the way, with endless mana of Chaldea reinforcing the said ideals as reality. Meh, who knows? It's highly the latter but I don't have the energy to write about that today.
> 
> I do have a brewing thought of having Gudao and Emiya summoned as a Heroic Spirit Package Deal v2, much like Artemis and Orion. Gah, I'm tired. That's for another time maybe.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
